


The savior of the broken, the beaten, and the damned.

by Captainshield



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Avengers Tower, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minor Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Slow Burn, Slutty Clint Barton, Stark Tower
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27906697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captainshield/pseuds/Captainshield
Summary: "It's true?" Clint asks, eyebrows high up on his forehead.Coulson with his tie dotted with miniature shields nods his head, not even acting surprised that Clint already knows more information than he should. "Yes. He hasn't woken up yet but it's only a matter of time. Hours they think."Clint sits back and let's his legs drape inelegantly out in front of him. "No shit?" A smile spreads over his face and he raises an eyebrow at Phil.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Clint Barton/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 39





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a long multi chaptered fic and really just want to write this and get it out there finally. I love this ship and desperately need more. I'm hoping it will eventually become Clint/Steve/Bucky but that may be a whole other fic, who knows. But welcome to this journey, I hope you stay ❤

  


Prologue. 

  


"Hey uh Clint, I need to talk to you for a minute" Coulson tells him in his mild mannered way. Usually the calm cadence of his voice settles Clint but as he takes in the sweat on Coulson's forehead, and the slight way his hands shake, and it doesn't. Despite the swift curl of unease in his stomach Clint nods. Clint’s shoulders make a valiant effort to stiffen, but he forces himself to stay calm and seem unaffected. He doesn’t often get to see Coulson unruffled and it raises Clint’s hackles every time it happens. 

  


Clint barely manages to follow Coulson down the cool grey corridor as his navy blue suit disappears around the corner. Even if Clint was to get lost in the labyrinth of SHIELD, Coulson’s office is one Clint has been to thousands of times, the concrete floors may as well have his footfalls embedded in them. When they reach it the light wooden door is open but Clint closes it behind them.

  


Coulson's office is ordinary, in every sense of the word. The big desk he sits at is the exact colour of a thousand desks, the lamp and the file cabinet are as nondescript as possible. Everything in the office is so mundane just looking at it all makes Clint feel bored. But the one thing that sticks out like a sore thumb is the bookshelf. It contains a framed black and white photo with a signature scrawled in the corner, action figures, merchandise, comic books, all things you’d expect to see in a fanatics house, not the office of the assistant director of S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint’s eyes are always drawn to the red white and blue collectables, they're the most eye-catching things in there but the cardboard boxes sitting next to the bookcase gives Clint pause, the final piece of information he needs. 

  


"It's true?" Clint asks, eyebrows high up on his forehead. 

  


Coulson with his tie dotted with miniature shields nods his head, not even acting surprised that Clint already knows more information than he should. "Yes. He hasn't woken up yet but it's only a matter of time. Hours they think."

  


Clint sits back and let's his legs drape inelegantly out in front of him. "No shit?" A smile spreads over his face and he raises an eyebrow at Phil.

  


Coulson doesn't acknowledge Clint, fingers toying with the cufflinks on his suit instead.

Clint watches, fascinated at the lack of composure Coulson is displaying. He's nervous,  twitchy  even, and Clint can't recall any other time he's seen him look like this. He knows there's more to the way Coulson is reacting (aside from the obvious) but it would be just like Clint to put a foot in his big mouth before Coulson could get it out, so he waits, drumming his fingers absentmindedly on the armrest.

  


"I want you in on it" Coulson says finally, voice unruffled as ever. His twitching settles.

  


"What do you want me to do exactly? I wasn't born in the 1920s I don't know what-"

  


"1918, but that's beside the point. The point is" Coulson runs a hand over his balding dark hair roughly, "he's going to wake up and nobody knows how he might react. We need your eyes  and  talent. Keep you hidden in case something goes awry." Coulson gives Clint a loaded look.

  


Clint swallows, "you want me to shoot a newly reanimated Captain America if things go  awry? " Clint echoes, eyebrows up in his hairline.

  


Coulson ducks his head, "Fury seems to think the plan is bulletproof, but it would ease my mind if you were there."

  


Then it hits Clint. "You want me there because you're not allowed" he accuses, not unkindly. He tries to hold back the shit-eating grin but can’t help the tug up of his lips. It makes sense, they’ve worked together for a long time and Clint's one of Coulson’s best recruits. It makes sense that he wants Clint there, his right hand man being there is nearly as good as being there himself. 

  


Coulson scowls immediately, any calm from the room zapping. The lines around his eyes look tighter than before. 

  


"You know as well as I do that I have the clearance, I just figured it would be best to keep that aspect of my life separate a little longer" Coulson snaps, eyes flicking over to the boxes on the floor. 

  


Clint swallows, feeling guilty for even suggesting that Coulson would be anything except perfectly capable of interacting with Captain America. It must be hard, having a symbol that comes to life and suddenly isn't a symbol anymore. They always say people are more loved once they pass, but nobody has ever come back to life to see it. Clint doesn't pretend to understand what Coulson is feeling and he still isn't sure he believes him, but then again he’d never been able to get a good read on Coulson. 

"Whatever man. It's not like your idol gets resurrected every day, but who am I to judge?" He says getting up, shooting a smirk over his shoulder. He knows he can get away with needling Coulson a little if he's joking, if it's lighthearted. 

  


"Go find Fury, he'll fill you in" Coulson grumbles, already shuffling papers and not looking at Clint’s smug expression. 

  


Clint nods but quickly ducks forward into Coulson’s space to demand he meet his eye. Clint gives him a wink and grins to himself at the fond eye roll he receives in turn, as he walks from the office. 

  


Clint closes the door so it's slightly open,  just a crack , and cackles when he hears Coulson shout at him to close it. Clint leaves it open and walks off in search for Fury.


	2. Chapter one: a world that sends you reeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets his first glimpse of Captain America and tension in Clint and Coulson's relationship heightens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would just like to note that I proofread everything by myself and writing is a passion not really a skill I have. But in saying that if there is any errors please let me know, and I'm always open for ideas ❤

Fury is off sight but he isn't hard to find for someone of Clint's level of clearance. It's a quick drive in the back seat of a black SHIELD SUV to the middle of Manhattan which gives Clint pause. Why would Captain America be here of all places? Not back at SHIELD headquarters or the Triskillion in DC? 

Clint follows the direction his SHIELD phone directs and walks into a warehouse, not unlike a movie set. There's a big room set up in the middle though it looks more like a box. Clint cant see inside it but his body thrums with anticipation, he knows that Captain America is  in there. 

Fury is standing nearby talking to Agent Hill and another woman, dressed like she's from a forgotten era. Other than that, there are hardly any other people around. A few agent's with what Clint recognises and tranq guns stationed around the warehouse and a sniper's nest which Clint assumes is for him.

"Barton" Fury calls, snapping Clint’s attention to him. 

Clint saunters over, loose and casual, sending a flirty smile to the woman with her hair curled and pinned like a pin-up girl. Her bright red lips twitch into a smile and her cheeks dust a peach colour. She looks back at Fury who tells her to get in position. Clint isn't sure she needs to be yet, or if Fury just wanted her away from Clint. It was possibly both. 

"Coulson talked you into coming?" Hill asks. 

Clint shrugs, "didn't need much convincing. It's Captain America."

Fury sighs "maybe. We aren't sure of his mental state yet. Can't be until he wakes up." His voice is serious, warning and Clint takes note of this. 

Maybe there's an element to this he doesn’t know about. The way Fury is talking and the way Coulson was sweating makes him feel like there's a puzzle piece missing. 

"Alright agent, let's get set up, we probably have about 15 minutes" Hill told Clint and he nodded, walking to position. 

Clint barely has a chance to set up his bow when there's a large cracking sound, that echoes around the warehouse. The noise is quickly followed by a man-shaped blur tearing across the warehouse, all within 30 seconds. 

Christ he's fast . 

Clint draws his bow but his arrow hits the empty space where the -presumably Captain America shaped- blur had been seconds before. 

"Shit" he mutters, half in disbelief because he missed. Clint missed a shot . He scampers down the ladder with renewed vigor and makes his way to where a number of S.H.I.E.L.D staff are running towards the trail left behind by Captain America.

Clint has impeccable eyesight and even  he  managed to miss in the chaos of it all what Captain America actually looks like. Sure there are pictures out there, but he hasn’t committed them to memory like Coulson probably has. 

When he gets out into the street, agents decked out in black are crowding around to block as many civilians from seeing the spectacle going on as possible, and by god has it turned into a spectacle. Agents in black tac gear are creating a perimeter, stopping civilians from getting involved, Clint recognizes one of Stark's devices that interfere with cell phone video has been deployed, and there are armed agents, not all with tranq guns. A ripple of unease shivers through Clint when he notices. 

Clint turns his attention to the man in the middle of the commotion and he just plain isn’t prepared for the magnificence that is Captain America in the flesh, the man spinning around in a circle and taking his surroundings in. 

The weather is overcast but Captain America just seems to glow like the sun is shining on him anyway.

His hair is neatly combed and gelled to the side and it's more bronze than blonde like Clint expected, maybe due to the cold damp that he had been frozen in. His jawline is sharp which Clint only notices from where he's standing because it's so  clearly  clenched. 

Clint recognises how the mans blue eyes are darting all around at the setting around them, skyscrapers, scaffolding, modern cars, and people dressed in warm coats and jackets to account for the cold weather. Something about the way he looks around is assessing, a familiar look in well trained agents and apparently soldiers. His eyes flick down to the guns held in way to many sets of hands, widen slightly before narrowing. 

All too quickly Captain America’s expression changes as comprehension dawns clear as day on his face. He is  so expressive  that Clint leans forward unconsciously, captivated. Right off the bat Captain America is nothing like what he expected and Clint watches with anticipation to see what Steve will do next, what he might say. Will he start attacking like his posture suggests he's prepared for? Or will he try and figure out who's in charge?

Clint glances around for Fury and it becomes glaringly obvious how the hulking big frame of Captain America stands out in New York even with his neutral outfit. His feet are bare which Clint notes with humour, the guy didn’t even put shoes on before bursting out of the set up inside. There are people trying to stop and look as if there is a celebrity being shielded and it makes Clint's neck itch. Why haven't the teams cordoned off the area yet? The perimeter clearly isn't enough, not without the flashy blue of a police uniform. 

Fury steps forward to the Captain, confident strides that land him 2 feet away from him he starts trying to talk him down. Captain America’s expression is unfriendly, like this conversation might not go the way they want it to. Hell, Clint is secretly hoping Cap is going to give Fury trouble, he’d like to see the director in combat with someone who would likely destroy him. 

Although it crushes his inner shit-stirrer urges he calls out calmly, "Fury, inside?" He frames it like a question but Fury knows Clint too well by now and reads between the lines. They need to de-escalate the situation before it gets out of hand with civilians watching. 

The scowl Fury shoots him is murderous anyway, but he nods ever so slightly. 

Captain America's eyes flick to Clint's face and their eyes meet. Clint has to bite back the gasp at how crystal clear and cerulean blue his eyes look, and then has to bite back a shiver at the unnerving heavy scrutiny. There is something about the way that this man’s gaze settles on him that feels uncomfortable but Clint can’t for the life of him fathom why. 

"You're drawing a crowd, should head back inside" Clint says, maybe louder than necessary but it gets everyone moving. Cap's eyebrows draw together in response. "Or do you want everyone to know who and where you are before you do?" 

Captain America pauses for a while longer, looking around. Clint can hear the sound of a jack hammer, the blare of car horns and the traffic noise around them and wonders how it must feel to Captain America’s enhanced hearing. Like nails on a chalkboard if Clint had to guess, and probably jarring compared to the New York he’d known.

Captain America dips his head to indicate he’ll follow them back inside and the S.H.I.E.L.D agents try to right the street again.  Nothing to see here folks.

Clint tries to follow Director Fury and Agent Hill to headquarters once Captain America has been briefed in the warehouse but is quickly shut down. He doesn't get so much as another brief glance at the legend after that. Non essential personnel are being herded out by Maria’s clipped tone and he’s missed the opportunity to fulfill his purpose as a sniper so there is nothing more he can do. 

Clint looks back over his shoulder to see Captain America again, wondering what will happen to him now. Clint muses about how Coulson’s eyes are going to light up after he tells him all about this. That he’s seen him in action and he really is  that fast.

  
  
  


Clint gets sent off on a mission just under 30 minutes later with the delta strike team and never gets the chance to discuss the event with Coulson. The mission is a gruelling two days in the heat of Texas but thankfully doesn’t get extended. Clint receives a message as soon as their quinjet touches down that he undoubtedly knows is from Coulson. Clint tries not to walk too fast but can’t quite help the spring in his step down the corridors of concrete. 

It seems like simultaneously forever and no time at all until Clint pushes open Coulson’s office door without knocking and finds the man leaning against his desk, facing the window.

Coulson looks up and turns to see Clint, even though they both know he’s the only one who walks in without knocking when it comes to Coulson’s space.

“Hi,” Coulson says, a small twitch of his lips that Clint has learned to look for indicates he’s happy to see Clint. 

“Are you okay?” is the first thing out of Clint’s mouth. The text hadn’t been unusual per say, but Clint had the distinct feeling that something was off. His instinct was never usually wrong, not with Coulson.

Coulson moves around to drop heavily into his seat. Clint shuts the door and walks over to where Coulson has put his head into his hands. He pushes his way into Coulson's space, sliding himself over Coulson's lap, legs splayed out on either side.

“ Clint ” Coulson halfheartedly complains.

Clint ignores it because they both know he locked the door when he came in and if he really had a problem with it Clint would already be on the floor. 

Clint leans down and bites Coulson's bottom lip, sharp and mean.

Coulson’s hips buck up in response, and Clint grins, leaning down to put his lips to Coulson’s neck. He nips gently and presses kisses along the line of Coulson’s throat and then pulls back to look at his face.

“I have work to do” Coulson tells him, hands carefully not touching Clint which is unusual. It’s also a surefire sign that as much as he wants Clint, now is not the time. 

Clint tilts his head sideways, “did I do something?” He climbs off Coulson’s lap and looks at him expectantly.

“It’s not you” Coulson sighs heavily. 

Clint doesn’t believe him. Coulson, despite being a very formal man, doesnt hesitate to touch Clint when they're alone. As a man of few words, touch spoke more for him than he ever would. The pair has been through too much and know each other too well for Coulson to pull away. It doesn’t bode well for the sinking feeling in Clint’s stomach. 

Clint looks away from him and folds his arms across his chest. His eyes catch on the bookshelf, filled with plants, files and a single photo of Phil, Natasha and Clint. 

“All your memorabilia is gone” he changes the subject even as his heart clenched happily at the photo. His statement hangs in the air between them, leaden and awkward. Clint hates it. 

Coulson nods but doesn't say anything else. Clint's stomach has twisted into painful knots, but he doesn't show it outwardly. Coulson is nothing if not honest, he can count on that, anticipates it. He will tell Clint what the problem is no matter how long it takes. Clint mastered  archery , he  knows patience. 

Coulson meets his eyes and they look raw, his face  actually showing  emotion. Coulson’s unbreakable mask is off.

“Phil?” Clint questions, heart rabbiting in his chest.

Coulson’s breath hitches “i, uh, had to delete some footage of you, on the body cameras. Your mission, you-”

“Shit."

Coulson’s face twists, eyes suddenly stormy as he bursts “How many times Clint? How many times have I told you? You can’t keep doing this stuff. You came so close to getting seriously hurt. If it weren't for me-”

“They would have seen how I went against my orders” Clint mumbles, stomach feeling like it’s full of heavy sand as he finished Phil's sentence lamely. He knew at the time that it was risky, but it was the difference between the mission being a success and being a failure. 

Clint had been doing this job for a long time, sometimes he really did know better than the man in charge, unless it was Phil of course. 

Coulson rubs a hand over his forehead. “I shouldn't even be doing this for you. By sorting out this mess I'm enabling you, I’m risking your safety as well by letting it slide. I’m compromised by this  thing , whatever we have between us.”

Clint tries not to feel the hurt that bites at his chest from Coulson’s words.  ‘Thing’  seems rather harsh even if they both know what they have right now is all they can have. A tender, sporadic night here and there, makeout sessions in Coulson’s office, or high level clearance areas that Coulson is one of three who can access. 

“Been compromised by me since the first day, when you brought me in to S.H.I.E.L.D” Clint argues quietly. 

Coulson looks up at him. “Yes I have” he sighs. Clint is relieved because this sounds like Coulson giving in. They can both acknowledge the unconventional relationship they share even if it is begrudgingly on Coulson's side.

But then Coulson continues “Clint I can't do it anymore. You’ve become too reckless relying on me to get you out of these situations. The mission rules and parameters are there for a reason. You're going to get hurt if you keep thinking you're unstoppable, that you don’t need back up. You very nearly did this time! I won’t protect you again Clint. Things have been cracking down around here since Captain America’s return and I need to-”.

Clint frowns and cuts Coulson off. “That’s what this is about? Don’t want  Cap  catching you breaking the rules?”

Coulson flinches back and Clint immediately feels guilt like a hot slice down his spine.

“Jealousy isn’t your colour” Coulson snips back. 

“Fuck you” Clint tells him. 

Coulson sighs. “Don’t ignore your orders again or they’ll catch you” he dismisses. 

Clint opens his mouth but doesn’t know what to say. Coulson raises an eyebrow at him and it’s enough to spur him into storming out, only stopping to  almost  fully close the door, just to piss him off.

Clint is unsettled as he walks straight out of S.H.I.E.L.D but thankfully he doesn’t see anyone he’s close enough with to be asked why his face looks like thunder. The cab he catches back to Bed Stuy smells like incense has been burning nonstop for 15 years and by the time he leaves he has a murderous headache. Clint makes his way up the stairs of his apartment building in a shitty mood and there is a breeze drifting up the concrete from down below which makes him shiver. The handrail feels like ice when he reaches out and grabs it to stabilise his jump over the missing step on his way up to the top floor. It makes him irrationally more angry and by the time he gets to his aubergine coloured front door he slams it closed loud enough to echo. 

He scans his apartment like usual and then makes a beeline for the kitchen. He could use a beer or five.


	3. Chapter two: But if you're troubled and hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers are formed!

Clint bites the skin around his nails subconsciously as he watches Natasha’s chest rise and fall evenly. She’s not looking at him however, she’s staring at the glass door as if she can make the other members attending appear by sheer force of will. 

It's just the two of them in the oblong shaped room so far, the unoffending beige walls and glass panels bring Clint comfort despite how bland they are. It’s only because Clint has been a S.H.I.E.L.D agent for a long time and they haven’t redecorated the facility the whole time he's been here. The uniformity is a comfort, even if he’s never stepped foot in this room before. 

Something else Clint loves about S.H.I.E.L.D is that they also don't put up big obnoxious Christmas decorations everywhere. There may be a desk Christmas tree here and there, or some greenery hanging from the ceiling but it’s minimal at best and there are no forced secret santa games, no big Christmas functions that everybody feels inclined to go to. Although Clint would never scoff at a free bar, he’d rather drag himself through barbed wire than wear a tux. 

There are booklets on the glass table untouched by both Clint and Natasha that must outline the purpose of the meeting, and there are four matching ones opposite. It’s almost a shock to Clint himself that he arrived early, but the dry spell of missions has really made him antsy for something to  _ do _ . He can only practice shooting and fill out so many mission summaries before a guy needs a break. Coulson hasn’t been a distraction as of late either because Clint has been avoiding him. But so what if he is, clearly they both need time to cool off, a break from the slight tension between them.

Clint looks up when the door opens and is surprised to see Coulson in a crisp gunmetal grey suit. He looks good, relaxed with a light in his eyes that Clint cant help but smile at. Even if they're not on the best terms the other man brings comfort and a sense of security for Clint who has been with him for so long. Clint finds he relaxes into his seat with the knowledge that the meeting will be fine. Coluson looks out for his people no matter what, Clint and Natasha are lucky enough to be part of the select few.

If his stomach hasn’t already dropped out at the sight of Coulson and how good he looks it definitely does when the second figure enters. Captain America walks in after Coulson, looking tall with his rigid military posture. Coulson looks  _ small _ in comparison when they sit next to each other across from Clint and Nat but that might have to do with their presence. 

Coulson has always been very mild mannered, unassuming in a way that makes him dangerous in the field when underestimated. Captain America is strong, and he radiates something almost intimidating. It should be ridiculous considering his reputation as an icon but the man sitting before them is very different from his comic book counterpart. Where the pictures painted him in all smiles, silly bright costumes and blonder than blonde hair, this man looks like his older, rougher brother. Clint likes it as much as he’s unsure about it. 

Fury walks in right after them before anybody can begin to say hello or make niceties and he stands at the head of the table, commanding their attention. Clint knows he’s not going to take a seat, Fury has always been one for dramatics and status. He asserts his position as SHIELD’s director in any moment he can physically as well as verbally. It’s something of a joke between Clint and Natasha, and he feels the bump of her foot against his shin. He tries to hide his amusement as he knows without even looking that if he catches Natasha’s eye he’ll start laughing.

"Welcome, thank  _ you _ all for making it on time, the same can't be said for your other team member" Fury tells them, voice a low irritated rumble.

Phil exchanges an exasperated look with Fury over his comment and Clint can’t help the curiosity forming of their 'other member'. 

Fury is normally irritated in some capacity at any given moment, but Coulson usually saves that exclusively for Clint. Nobody else can push his buttons like Clint does. 

Anticipation twists in Clint’s stomach. Who is their other ‘team member’ and why is Coulson already so unimpressed by them? He surmises that there must be some sort of familiarity between them and the thought makes Clint frown. He knows it's unfair and unprofessional to feel any sort of animosity or -dare he say- jealousy in the workplace, especially knowing how seriously Coulson takes his job and staff, but Clint can’t help it. Coulson is one of the most important people he has and their relationship is his most treasured. 

"S.H.I.E.L.D has been in the process of bringing together some of the most talented individuals the world has ever produced. That's you. Congratulations on making it into the Avengers initiative. Coulson and I have handpicked you all and he will oversee any needs, missions, problems and report to me" Fury flicks his gaze to Clint briefly, and Clint grins back as cheerily as he can just to antagonize him, "so get used to each other."

Clint looks at Natasha to gauge her reaction to the team but she only raises a casual eyebrow. Clint rolls his eyes because she looks like this isn’t news to her. It’s just like Natasha to already know about this, she isn't surprised at all. 

Clint looks over to Cap who is already looking at him in contemplation so Clint averts his eyes quickly back to Fury. He’s been subjected to the man’s penetrative gaze months ago and he hasn’t forgotten how it feels since it happened. He finds despite his curiosity over the other man he is unwilling to feel so exposed by him again.

"Steve, this is Clint Barton aka Hawkeye, SHIELD's resident archer, you briefly met when we first tried to acclimatize you.” Clint doesn’t miss the eyeroll that Steve makes, but Fury continues on as if he had. “This is Natasha Romanoff or Black Widow. And our fourth member, one I am already regretting is Tony Stark."

Clint squints at Fury, trying to gauge if he’s being serious. Fury doesn't joke but Clint can't find it in himself to believe it otherwise.  _ Tony Stark?  _ It seems impossible, out of the realm of rational thought. 

"Archer? You use a bow and arrow?" Steve directs his question to Clint and pulls him out of his head. 

Clint nods "but if you put any weapon that fires in my hands, I never miss" Clint tells him almost absentmindedly, trying not to look at him. He flicks through the pages of the booklet with forced indifference.

"Well, that's putting it lightly" Coulson says to Cap, and Steve nods a little. Clint tries not to preen under Coulson's praise but can’t help a glance at Coulson’s face. The corners of his lips are quirked but he doesn’t meet Clint’s eyes.

"I look forward to seeing it, as well as a display of your skills Miss Romanoff" Cap says politely, looking from Clint to Natasha. 

Natasha narrows her eyes slightly but doesn't say anything and Clint settles back into his seat.

"Where  _ is _ Stark?" Fury grumbles to Coulson.

Coulson shrugs and his brows are pulled down, which amuses Clint because Coulson and Fury both have matching grouchy expressions and Clint is sure there isn’t one percentage of fondness towards Tony Stark. He’s a means to an end, an asset they can use, apparently.

Cap picks up the booklet and his hands look huge on the pages as he rifles through with a crease between his eyebrows. His eyes flick across the words faster than Clint has ever seen anybody read and is suddenly struck _again_ at the fact that this is _Steve_ _Rogers_ , an _enhanced_ _human_ who underwent groundbreaking science to be who he is, to even be in front of Clint right now. It's humbling, intimidating, hard to really put the knowledge of the legend studied in schools and universities into the man sitting across the table. Captain America looks so normal, if you ignore how huge he is. 

Objectively Clint is slightly taller, but he’s sure that standing next to Cap he won’t feel that way. Maybe it has to do with how Clint is always stealth and shadows, and Steve is for all intents and purposes a giant American flag on legs. Not that he’s dressed that way right now. Perhaps the regular clothes are what’s throwing him off about Cap and the disconnect between the worlds first superhero and the military man sitting across from him.

"This details another member, Bruce Banner?" Steve notes with a raised eyebrow at Fury.

Natasha and Clint both look up at Steve's comment. 

Fury straightens from where he is standing at the head of the table, clearly sensing the unease creeping into the room. 

"Bruce Banner is a genius and highly valuable in his own right, plus add the big jolly green and he seems like the perfect weapon, provided we know how to aim and shoot" comes a voice from the door.

Tony Stark is leaning against the door frame looking thoughtful with a hand on his chin, it's blatantly for show, but nobody calls him out on it because he's _eccentric_. He’s _Tony_ _Stark._ Clint’s read his file.

He’s shorter in person than Clint thought he’d be, but his outfit is just as gaudy as on the gossip magazines at the supermarket near his apartment. The metal band t-shirt is a statement under a blazer and Clint wants to laugh, he looks like a boy who tries to dress like his dad and hasn’t quite figured it out, mixed with a frat boy from the early 2000s. 

"It's a work in progress. He hasn't agreed to join as of yet" Coulson murmurs to Clint, Natasha and Cap. The two S.H.I.E.L.D agents are both stunned by this information as Banner has a very well known alter ego around S.H.I.E.L.D, but Cap looks politely confused.

"So you asked and he said no?" Tony provokes walking into the room and picking up the other booklet. He barely glances at Clint and Natasha but his eyes study Cap thoroughly over the top of the pages. Clint isn’t surprised that he shows Captain America more interest than them, especially considering Howard Stark had known Cap and had been his friend. He probably doesn’t even know who Clint and Natasha are, which admittedly is kind of the point of their profession but is still humbling.

Clint is surprised again when Tony turns to stare at Natasha and his face falls. "You. Again. I can never escape you" he tells her but there is no heat in it. It sounds as if she is merely an inconvenience not a whole living breathing person who can speak back. It rubs Clint the wrong way but he's sure Natasha will fill him in on what garnered that reaction later. He knows part of it but this sounds more personal.

Natasha’s low voice when she speaks is hard edged and familiar to Clint, especially in situations with the Director. It's one she uses when she doesn't want an argument, factual, final. 

"With all due respect sir, my assessment of Stark was not fit for a team environment, and there hasn't been any evidence indicating otherwise-" 

Tony starts speaking over her indignantly and then Coulson gets involved with his smooth baritone to try and placate. Clint looks back down at the booklet and starts bending the corners of the pages. An image jumps out at him from where he’s playing with the book instead of studying it, and his jaw drops when he recognizes the person in the picture. 

"Thor?" Clint questions.

"Well, You saw firsthand what he is capable of, Barton, he'd be an asset" Fury tells him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Clint sort of hates him a little bit. 

“He's not even on the planet!" Clint scoffs, indignant. 

Cap looks up at Clint with wide eyes, dipping his eyebrows in the middle in case Clint needed further evidence of exactly how confused he’s feeling. He’s very expressive. If Clint wasn’t so preoccupied with the thought of Thor working alongside them he’d find it fascinating.

"Thor is a long story but if the need were to arise he would come to our aid. You would all help him" Fury cuts off the conversation with a note of finality but Clint is still somewhat in disbelief.

"So we have an alien from a  _ literal _ other planet, an uncontrollable and not yet agreeable Hulk, a defrosted super soldier, a woman who earned my trust and then  _ lost  _ it  _ completely _ ” -Tony shoots her a glare before steamrolling on- “and a man running around with medieval equipment. How did you think this proposition would go any better than the last time you attempted to make me join?" Tony questions Fury.

Clint tries not to bristle at the dismissal but it seems Tony cant help himself from offending people. Cap looks irate and Coulson is rubbing the bridge of his nose. Clint has more of an understanding now of why Coulson looked so reluctant earlier at the prospect of him on the team.

"This time you don't have a choice."

Tony frowns and turns back to the rest of the room's occupants, finally paying them attention. Clint wants to dig into that little tidbit as soon as possible. What blackmail could they possibly have over Tony Stark, a man who manufactured and designed weapons, has no family, and has been subject of leaked sex tapes?

Cap looks around at everyone in the room and opens his mouth to speak but is beaten to it. Multiple voices start up again and the sound turns into a loud melding of voices. It makes separating the different voices and trains of thought impossible and Clint decides he’s had enough, flicking off his hearing aids with a movement meant to look like an idle itch. It doesn’t go unnoticed by curious blue eyes across the table, but Clint is pleasantly surprised when he isn't ratted out by Steve.

Fury continues trying to get through the meeting agenda and eventually everybody settles down with a few hostile looks. Clint doesn't bother turning on his aids again, too busy reading through the initiative outlined in front of him.  _ Avengers _ . He scoffs at the name, seems a little pretentious.

Natasha whacks him at some point because a direct question has been asked of him and he obviously hasn't heard it. 

Fury scowls with a vengeance when he realizes that Clint has his hearing aids off and Coulson sags back into his chair with a hand on his forehead in exasperation. If looks could kill Fury would've buried Clint 5 feet under. Clint grins at both of their reactions. 

"What'd I miss?" He quips, flicking his aids back on and leaning comfortably back in the springy office chair. He spreads out his legs under the table and accidentally kicks someone but he isn't sure who. 

"The whole meeting" Cap mumbles and it spurs Clint into laughter. His eyes lock onto Cap as the man fights a smile behind his hands himself, and everybody else is looking at Clint in annoyance. Clint finds that he enjoys Cap's lack of composure and lack of professionalism in this situation. It’s such a stark contrast to what he’s seen of him, the penetrative gaze of before, the stiffness of his shoulders. Clint has heard many things about Captain America but his sense of humour isn’t one of them so he finds himself excited to see more of it, now they’re on the same team. Provided he has a good balance between work and play. Maybe Cap will keep Coulson on his toes as much as Clint does? Or he could be another Fury, unnerving and too uptight. 

"Well, I guess there is nothing to add. Coulson, Romanoff, make sure Barton knows what he's supposed to be doing over the next couple months. Stark, it would be appreciated if you decided to grace us with your presence _on_ _time_ in the future," Fury finishes with a sigh and then sweeps out of the meeting room, black coat whipping behind him.

Steve sends them each brief smiles before asking Tony if he can speak with him. The humor on his handsome face disappears into something serious and Clint bites his lip thinking of his previous musings. He was able to turn the humour off so easily, not a good sign. And the surprise on Stark's face is comedy gold and Clint has to stifle his snickering. Clearly Steve doesn't find the situation funny. 

Clint doesn't blame Stark for looking so cagey when Cap has that intensity in his eyes again, the one similar to what Clint himself had experienced when they first saw each other. 

"Clint, we've talked about this. Just because of your status at S.H.I.E.L.D doesn’t mean you aren't still required to-" Coulson begins but stops when Clint lifts a very deliberate hand up to his ear and flicks his hearing aids off. He's laughing as he does it, unable to help himself. 

Coulson throws his hands up in exasperation and leaves the room in a huff. 

Clint flicks them on again and unapologetically grins at Natasha. 

"You're an idiot" she tells him, but the twitch to her mouth gives away how fond she really is. "Hungry?"

"Starving" Clint tells her, even though he wants nothing more than to follow Coulson into his office and needle him some more, see how much he can  _ push _ . 

They leave S.H.I.E.L.D in companionable silence, both instinctively walking towards the exit without saying anything. Natasha gets in the drivers side of her convertible and Clint folds himself into the passenger seat, legs awkwardly stuffed in but his knees not quite hitting the dash. Natasha looks as amused as she ever does at this. 

Clint has secretly wondered if Natasha bought such a small car just to watch Clint crouch down to get in it each time. Obviously she loves the speed, anything fast and sleek is exactly her m.o, but Clint having to squash in is just an added bonus. He's just thankful she didn't buy a mini, his knees would be up to his ears. 

Clint grins when he recognizes where Natasha is taking him, their favourite Italian restaurant. Clint will get the same pizza he always gets and Natasha will ask for their mushroom pasta. 

"What's with Stark?" Clint asks once they've ordered their drinks.

Natasha rolls her eyes so hard it looks painful. "I told you briefly when I had finished the mission. I was undercover to watch him and learn. I learnt he was dying, poison from his ARC reactor. S.H.I.E.L.D figured out how to help him and blackmailed him into joining the team."

Clint nods, unsurprised at SHIELD’s strategy. That answered a few of his questions already. "Yeah, that'll do it. Who were you?"

Natasha smiles, a sharp small thing that Clint doesn't flinch at  _ anymore _ , "Natalie."

Clint can't help but laugh. Her Natalie persona would have Tony ‘womanizer’ Stark wrapped around her pinky finger. Just like it has countless other men on countless other missions. No wonder Tony feels hostile. 

"It may be more than that. Tony Stark's inner circle is very small. Nobody gets close to him easily. It's part of the reason I don't think he's a good fit for a team. He's selfish, destructive, but Fury turned a blind eye to that. Thinks that he'll get over it, get over my betrayal." Natasha says as their drinks arrive. 

Clint hums in acknowledgement, think it over in his head. Tony hadn't seemed  _ so  _ bad, prickly and rude maybe, but if what Natasha says is true, -and he trusts her word irrevocably- then it’s a protective mechanism. Clint can respect that. 

They order food and then Natasha says "what do you think of Steve?"

"First of all, it’s weird you just called Captain America  _ Steve _ " Clint shudders for effect and Natasha kicks him under the table. "Fine fine, impatient" he concedes. Still Clint pauses for dramatic effect, takes a long drink of water and when Natasha’s eyes darken in warning he says "He never does what I think he'll do. Reacts in different ways then I expect. It's" -he pauses to think of a better word but can only settle on- "interesting".

Natasha quirks an eyebrow. "Mmhmm."

Clint doesn't want to even address what he thinks Natasha means by her reaction, that small 'mmhmm' says for her what normal people say in a full sentence. She thinks he's holding something back, or not being truthful and he wants to kick her in retaliation under the table like they're both 6 years old. But Clint knows how to change the subject so he does. Their lunch passes peacefully after that, the food fresh and authentic and the two of them don't leave a crumb. 

  
  


When they get back to S.H.I.E.L.D Clint and Nat go to their office. Her side is pristine, everything has a place and is in that place. Her chair is one of those terrible ergonomic ones that are supposedly good for your back and she sits up in it like a statue for hours. 

If Nat’s side is pristine then Clint’s side is the opposite. Clint even had one of those giant plastic balls until he pissed Natasha off too much and she popped it while he was sitting on it. He collapsed on the floor with a pout and then Coulson commandeered him somebody else's spinning chair. He knew she didn’t like it much more than the ball but it hasn’t magically been replaced yet.

There are three posters hanging behind Clint’s desk and _ all of them _ are indecent but nobody has ever questioned him on it and Natasha’s eyes stray to the posters behind him more often than he thought they might. Women in bikinis and women  _ not _ in bikinis is clearly appealing to both of them. An unexpected bonus if you ask Clint.

It's not until hours later of paperwork and S.H.I.E.L.D packages online that Clint eventually does catch up with Coulson and the man looks as happy as he ever does when Clint waltzes into his office. He holds up a finger and Clint waits for him to hang up the phone. Coulson looks good, his suit jacket is hanging on the back of his chair and his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows. His office smells like his cologne and Clint can't help but breathe in appreciatively. 

“Meet me at mine tonight?” Coulson says, apropos of nothing. There's a hint of a smirk on his face, confident almost, like he knows there's no way Clint will say no, and he doesn't. 

“ _ Yeah _ ,” Clint says emphatically and then Coulson’s phone rings again. Clint smiles to show he isn’t bothered by Coulson picking it up as Clint lets himself out, making sure to leave the door an inch from closing just to wind Coulson up. 

Clint goes back to his office with Natasha who is watching some kind of video with her gaze looking half dead. But he doesn't focus on her, he's jittery while he fills out his large accumulating pile of mission reports. He fidgets with the pen, twisting it around his fingers like drummers do with their sticks. It has nothing to do with the empty coffee cups on his desk, under his desk, in the waste paper bin. 

After a half hour Clint gives up on the backlog and grabs his belongings, leaving S.H.I.E.L.D with anticipation bubbling up his chest. Natasha doesn't say goodbye as he leaves and he doesn't expect her to. He catches a cab to his apartment in Bed Stuy so he can change, shower and eat in preparation for his night with Coulson. 

Coulson to Clint’s surprise is waiting for him, on his long navy couch, with his arm stretched along the back of it. The room is lit only by the tall lamp in the corner, casting a warm golden light along the planes of Coulson’s face. Clint’s stomach swoops at the way he’s dressed and the atmosphere he has effortlessly created.

Coulson’s tie is gone, the top buttons of his dress shirt are undone to reveal pale skin and prominent collarbones. His legs are slightly apart and Clint drinks it all in. Coulson flicks the tv off and the flickering light effect that was flashing across his cheekbones stops. 

Clint takes a shaky breath in and Coulson stands up and walks to him. 

“You’ve been unsettled lately” Coulson murmurs and walks around Clint in a full circle, taking him in. 

Clint feels ridiculous wearing clothes with the way Coulson is looking at him, like he’s a meal he can’t wait to devour. Clint almost squirms where he stands and has to actively fight the instinct. Clint doesn’t say anything, just waits on baited breath to see what’s going to happen next. 

“I think I know why” Coulson tells him softly and Clint wants to recoil. Clint falters at the change in tone, but he takes another deep breath, steadier this time and brushes it off. Soft isn't really their style but he wants to try and appreciate the effort Phil has gone to, to make the night special. 

“Why?” Clint asks, knowing it's what Coulson wants him to say, the next part of the script, but his voice comes out hard and they both notice. 

Phil stops so Clint can watch him as he says “you're feeling insecure.”

Clint has to try very hard to stop anger from bubbling up at this. As it is he recoils and takes half a step back. 

“Clint, I'm not being mean.  _ Listen _ , listen. Everybody knows about my feelings towards Captain America, it’s the worlds worst kept secret. It’s understandable you feel threatened” He tells him but the words stick inside Clint’s brain like pins. It is clearly not coming out the way Coulson intends because Clint feels prickly. 

Telling Clint what he feels for him without hearing what Clint actually feels has never gone over well and Clint is surprised that Coulson has done that. It’s no surprise that his next words come out as a growl. 

“Threatened? Well, gee Phil, i wasn't feeling that way until you said that. You got something you want to tell me?”

Coulson frowns, that familiar squiggle making itself known between his eyebrows. “That’s not what i meant and you know it. What I was trying to say is that it’s nothing. It’s about the icon not the person. It’s not about  _ Steve _ . Besides, I want you. Now preferably.”

Clint nods, dropping his head. It’s a relief to hear him say it, but something is still unsettling him. That is until Coulson tilts Clint’s chin down and leans up to press their lips together. 

Their clothes come off slowly, and their kisses are languid and unhurried. Clint gives in and lets Phil push him around his apartment until he’s naked on the bed and breathing quickly, skin heated and cock straining. Coulson looks like he’s ready to ruin him and Clint wants to close his eyes and  _ let  _ him. They’re so familiar with each other's bodies that it doesn’t take long for Clint to beg, desperate cries of “Phil,  _ Phil,  _ please,” and for Coulson to show him how much he really wants him. 

When it’s over and they’re smelling of Phil’s crisp pine body wash, Phil’s breathing drops quickly into sleep. Clint rolls over and stares at the red light of Coulson’s digital alarm clock. He wonders why the sex wasn’t as satisfying as it normally is, and hopes for sleep that doesn’t come.

Clint gets called in by Fury for a mission before Coulson is awake so Clint finds his clothes strewn throughout Coulson’s apartment and shoves them on. He sets up the coffee maker so that when Coulson wakes up it’ll already be ready for him and leaves without saying a word. 

It’s still dark out as Clint catches a cab to his apartment to find his gear. It’s bitterly cold and his nose is running by the time he gets inside and pulls his bow and quiver from under the bed. He promptly changes clothes and is out again before he can think too much about anything. Coulson was right about something. He’s unsettled and he hates it. It’s not the mindset he likes to be in before a mission, especially one of Fury’s. 

When he looks up to go on a search for a taxi he notices an out of place black convertible.

Clint sighs in relief. 

“Hey Nat” Clint says tiredly when he gets in the passenger seat. He knows she hadn’t been parked there when he got back from Coulson’s and is thankful for the timing. It’s an interrogation he can do without. 

Natasha nods to indicate she’s heard him and then puts the car into drive. Clint is pushed back forcefully into the seat and grins. Natasha shifts gears with fluid movements that makes her a pleasure to drive around with, even if New York traffic sucks. There  _ is  _ less traffic at this early hour to be fair, but Clint still breathes out a heavy, resigned sigh when they finally get to S.H.I.E.L.D’s expansive concrete complex. It looms over them like a giant reminder of Clint’s inner turmoil. His usual enthusiastic attitude is hard to achieve when he feels so grey. 

“What?” Natasha questions, picking up on his unusual manner. 

“Fury’s got us on a mission that he won’t disclose over the phone. What's the bet I’m going to miss my bed” Clint frowns, but it’s half-hearted at best. 

Natasha pulls into the underground car park and levels him with a look. “Since when have you ever laid down to sleep and not been able to?”

Clint laughs, “Oh Natasha, I can't bear the sight of another bunk, no more Quinjet beds for me, please! I don’t think i can take it.” He flails around dramatically onto her and she shoves him roughly, laughing. 

Clint’s right.


	4. Chapter Three: So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is where the Clint/Coulson ends and other things begin!

It’s the first of January when Clint and Natasha get back to New York from Fury’s mission. They missed Christmas and even if Clint doesn't particularly care for the holiday, it’s always a day he got to spend uninterrupted with Coulson. It’s a rare feat, something Clint treasures and now he’s back sorely feels the loss of. So Clint goes straight from the S.H.I.E.L.D lockers to Coulson's office, despite the early hour. His nose is still throbbing from the sucker punch he’d gotten, and his shoulder is sore from the strain of using his bow for such an extended period of time, but there’s nothing to stop him from seeing the one person he really wants to see. He wants to hug him, breathe in the smell of his aftershave, kiss him until the itchy feeling of mission adrenaline wears off.

Coulson and the thought of Coulson are the things that keep Clint going, keep him feeling hopeful and help him push through the tough moments. He wants to thank him for that. Coulson has built Clint from the ground up for years, and even after all that time just the thought of him is still keeping Clint grounded on missions. His concern for Clint’s safety has been ringing around in his head for a month and for all Clint’s anger, he knows Coulson was right. Is it so bad that he’s only just gained that perspective? That he sees how lucky he truly is to have Coulson on his side and wants to appreciate him? Starting with a kiss, then maybe more if Coulson is up for it. Maybe they can have a late Christmas for just the two of them, drink hot drinks in the warmth of Coulson’s bed, watch movies that they don't pay attention to. Coulson of course would be working via his phone -now that it’s January- and Clint would be half asleep, snoozing on him. 

The hallways are mostly deserted aside from a few other agents milling around or getting things set up for the day ahead. A woman smiles at him and a pretty man with floppy hair offers him coffee with a demure smile on his face. Clint can't help but check him out in all his lean muscle and a slim waisted glory but ultimately declines the obvious intent. It makes him feel a little cocky as he continues on his way to Phil’s office. Still dressed in mission gear, bruised and beaten, he’s still got it. 

If Clint’s timing is right Phil will be arriving in about half an hour and he can't help but fidget like a child about to get in trouble. He isn’t, he took Coulson for his word and hasn’t disobeyed orders since their talk, even if Clint has had to fight against his instincts not to. 

Clint is lounging in Coulson's big work chair like he has every right to be there when the man himself enters and flicks the light on. He has a gun in his hand pointed at Clint in a frighteningly quick response until he registers who it is and then hastily holsters it again under his immaculate suit. It's such a swift move and Clint smiles. He drags his eyes hungrily over Coulson's body, clean shaven face and sturdy hands. 

“Clint, you could’ve called,” Coulson chides, not commenting on his gun-happy reaction.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Clint smirks. His stomach is doing little flips at the sight of Coulson, so relieved to see him after so long. Clint gets up when Coulson gestures for him to, and he watches him settle heavily down into his seat, pressing the on button for his computer. Clint is expecting Coulson to comment on his bruised appearance or smile at him, but he's quiet. It's not unsurprising but Clint was almost hoping for something more. Coulson hasn't spoken of the mission, hasn't really said anything to him, is going about his business almost like Clint isn't even there.

Clint stands by the window and opens the blinds slightly so he can look out at the sun beginning to rise while listening to Coulson get ready for the day. It's beautiful with oranges, pinks, and reds. Clint can't remember the last sunrise he saw. 

Clint is so far beyond tired it’s a wonder he’s still even standing and the smell of Coulson’s cologne is a familiar comfort that Clint closes his eyes and breathes in for a while, He almost feels himself drifting off standing up.

It occurs to Clint that maybe Phil’s non reaction is because he’s mad that Clint hadn’t woken him before he left for that last mission, he was gone for three weeks. Given they both couldn't have known how long Clint would be away for, but Coulson has access to almost everything, Fury would have been able to disclose  _ some  _ information to him if not all. It just makes Coulson’s chilly attitude all the more strange and it sets Clint’s teeth on edge that he doesn’t know what Phil is thinking. What does the stiff line of his shoulders mean? Has he fucked things up somehow on his mission?

“Seen much of Cap?” Clint asks unthinking, just trying to encourage Coulson to speak to him.

Coulson sighs. “You just got back and you want to talk about Steve? Sneak into my office looking like shit to what? Check up on me? I’d rather you go home and rest.”

Clint flinches at the choice of language as Coulson isn’t one for swearing, and he  _ never  _ speaks to Clint that way. 

Clint watches warily from his peripheral vision as Coulson twists around in his chair to face him. Clint turns fully and leans on the windowsill so they can look at each other, but he is careful to avoid the radiator that spans the lower half of the wall so he doesn’t get burnt.

“I wanted to see how you are,” Clint tips his chin forward subconsciously, daring Coulson to chide him or tell him he shouldn’t care. Coulson’s tone is combative and Clint feels his fight or flight reflexes kicking in. 

Coulson’s mouth twitches, a smile if you know him well. It doesn’t reach his eyes however, and the air around them seems to still for a second. 

“Come for a beer tonight?” Clint asks him desperately. It doesn't sound like he’s begging, he never would, not with Coulson, but it’s the closest he’s ever going to get to it. 

Coulson slowly shakes his head, “You’re dead on your feet. You need to sleep Clint.”

Clint ducks his head, embarrassed that he didn’t realise Coulson was going to point this out. He didn't think he had even noticed. “Tomorrow then?”

Coulson sighs. “There's been something I've been meaning to talk to you about. The position change for the initiative? Look there is no easy way to say this, but that position and this  _ thing  _ we have are direct conflicts of interest."

_ Ouch _ . Clint’s stomach feels like it's dropped out from his body. This is not the way he thought his conversation with Coulson was going to go. He hadn’t imagined romance or anything, Coulson isn’t like that and Clint doesn’t mind. Maybe he thought there would be more kissing, touching,  _ something _ . He's been gone for three weeks! Not this. This distance between them and the topic of conversation that feels suspiciously like Coulson pushing him away. 

Clint wipes his palms on his jeans. “Nobody has to know still. I  _ know  _ the way it’s gotta be Phil” Clint tries with the knowledge that Coulson  _ knows  _ he’s clever enough not to get caught, things don’t have to change between them. Sure the position may make things different for a while while they figure out how to adjust but Clint knows he can make it work. He just needs Coulson to meet him halfway.

Coulson looks away and says nothing. 

It may as well have been a slap in the face for how badly it stings. Clint feels like his legs have been kicked out from under him. He’d been desperate to see Phil before, and now he just wants him to stop talking. He feels like he’s in a train that's steadily heading for the edge of a cliff and he doesn't know how to stop it. 

Coulson looks up at Clint, pained. “We both knew the possibility of something like this could come up. I  _ warned  _ you Clint. I always put my career first. The lives of so many people are affected by what we do and I don't want to jeopardize that. Besides, you deserve somebody who doesn’t do this to you. You shouldn’t be put second. I'm honest enough to admit that. I haven't been what you deserve, and i won’t ever be able to give you all of me.”

Pain twists around in Clint’s chest. He knows Coulson’s job is his life, that he’s sacrificed a lot to get where he is, but he's been hoping that he can trust Clint, that what they have is enough to enhance Phil’s life, not make things harder. 

But something about the conversation feels so final. Maybe it's the early hour or maybe it's the time Clint’s been away on the mission that clarified things for Coulson. Maybe it's the gentle firmness of Coulson's voice. But something has definitely changed for him and Clint can feel it. 

“I’m happy with what we have. Some of you is better than none of you” Clint tells him fiercely. Clint is nothing if not a fighter, he’s been clawing his way through his whole life. He’ll fight for Coulson, even if the other man is giving up.

Coulson sighs looking up from his chair at where Clint towers over him. 

“Clint. It’s been beautiful, these moments with you, i’m not one for many words so don’t expect eloquence from me. But i can’t give you more, and you deserve more. You may be okay with this, but the guilt is eating me alive. I will always put my job before you, or anyone else. You  _ know  _ that.”

Clint feels something fragile in his chest break. It’s really done. Coulson is making this final.

“Clint. Listen. We’re still going to be a team, I'll still be here for you, but it can’t be in the way you want. It’s not like I can't still be on your side. You, me, and Nat. We’re still our own team.”

It’s the final nail in the coffin and Clint nods, not meeting Coulson’s eyes. He doesn’t even want to look at his strong face to know that he’ll never kiss those lips again, never see his eyes light up in that way they do when Clint is laid out waiting for him, naked and trusting. Every little extra piece of happiness that Clint has carved out with Phil Coulson is being tossed away. Back to friendly, work and no play. Clint wishes it were as easy as that, wishes for a button to push to forget these extra pieces of Phil and the way he has made Clint feel. 

“You should go visit Stark. Get to know him, and Steve lives there. Take Natasha, don’t think about me” Coulson suggests, but it sounds like a distraction. Like he wants Clint to forget everything they’ve shared. Like it's just that easy. It almost makes him angry that he could think that would work. That the moments Clint has treasured are something as simple as  _ forgettable _ . 

“So that’s it?” Clint can’t control how cold his voice sounds, the anger and hurt forcing its way out. “I’m going to walk out of here Agent Barton and be a happy family with my new team?”

Coulson rubs his hands up over his head, back down over his face and then he reaches up for Clint to pull him down far enough to press their lips together. Clint wraps a hand around the side of Coulson’s neck reflexively, the other steady on his waist and kisses him like his life depends on it. He opens his mouth and lets Coulson in, lets him press his body close, kiss all rational thought out of his head for the last time. Phil tastes of coffee, and caramel, intoxicating and familiar. Clint doesn’t ever want the kiss to stop, knowing it will be the last one. 

Coulson is the one who eventually pulls away. They both knew he would be. Maybe they both knew that all along.

They stare at each other breathless and sad until Coulson drops his eyes. He turns towards the window Clint had been looking out just before and he doesn’t look back, even at the sound of the door  _ closing _ .  _ It clicks shut. _

  
  
  


Admittedly Clint is in a shitty mood when he follows Coulson’s advice and makes his way to Stark’s stupidly huge tower in Manhattan. The big pavers of the sidewalk start to darken with rain drops and Clint has thirty seconds before a downpour descends on him. He tries to hail a cab but so do a million other people on the street as the rain drenches clothes and hair, shoes and socks. The rain is miserably cold and causes his shirt to stick to his chest and around his biceps, his jeans feel heavy and stiff when he gives up on the cabs and continues walking. 

Clint’s steps were already dragging and every step he takes now hurts. The mission wasn’t kind to his body, not that Clint ever really is kind to his body, but the harsh terrain has made his feet ache, his hands are even rougher from the amount of arrows he’s been firing. Clint’s pretty sure his calluses have calluses and this whole day has turned out to be one of the worst he’s experienced in a long time and it's barely 8am.

Clint’s about fifty meters from the entrance to Stark tower when he falters, thinking for the first time about what he’s going to say when he gets there. Not to mention how he looks like a wreck. Should he even bother? Tony Stark isn’t sympathetic, he will not give two shits that Clint is in such a state. He doesn't even know if Tony will be there, he could be in another country for all Clint knows. And then the knowledge of Steve being somewhere inside the building almost makes him turn around. He doesn't think he could possibly face his gaze in a mood like this. He gets his phone out of his pocket to ask Natasha to come pick him up but it is ridiculously waterlogged and wont display half the screen. He throws it into a nearby rubbish bin and sucks up his courage, taking the few remaining steps into Stark tower.


	5. Chapter four: Better get up While you can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint gets some understanding and depth to Tony Stark. Clint and Natasha move residence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just gonna be honest here and say I'm not to happy with this chapter but it has some of the world building, character relationships that i need. Plus if i stare at it any more i'm going to go insane. really this is all an attempt in developing writing skill for me so I hope that at least somebody gets joy from this fic. Notice I've added the slow burn tag? Not sorry. x

“Oh, hello. How can I help you?” The receptionist is taken aback when Clint arrives in the lobby; All sopping wet six foot three inches of him, dripping onto the polished marble floors.

“Uh, I was looking for Tony Stark?” He mumbles, cursing himself for sounding so hesitant. 

“Who’s asking?” She asks him, phone pressed to her ear.

“Clint Barton."

He looks around while she talks, the glass chandelier alone looks more expensive than Clint’s whole apartment. There are leather couches in the corner but they have tiny backs that mean they are uncomfortable and purely for decoration, and there are old black and white photos on the wall of what the street used to look like back in the day. It has definitely come leaps and bounds as Stark Tower is one of the most impressive structures in Manhattan now. 

“Mister Barton, Happy is going to show you around” She smiles calmly, gesturing to the elevator. Clint nods at her and turns towards it as the doors open. 

“Hi, I'm Happy,” a pale man with a mop of brown hair in a suit informs him. He looks anything  _ but  _ happy and Clint finds himself smirking. 

“You Tony’s assistant?”

The man rolls his eyes and looks at Clint properly for the first time. Clint watches with amusement as Happy looks down at Clint's soaked S.H.I.E.L.D field clothes and then flicks his gaze back up. 

“What happened to you?” He asks with mild concern.

“Downpour outside” Clint tells him, jerking a thumb over his shoulder as they move towards the elevator. Happy nods in understanding and then presses a button once they're in the elevator. It moves easily, gliding rather than jolting, and it doesn’t give Clint that awful sensation in his head that normal elevators do. He guesses he shouldn’t be surprised, Tony Stark is an  _ engineer _ , and one of the most powerful brains in America. He can finesse his elevator if he wants to.

“Tony told me to take you to the lab, that way he can get your retina scan and program you into J.A.R.V.I.S so you can come and go, but you should probably change" Happy tells him giving Clint’s clothes a once over. 

The doors part before he can say anymore and Clint’s mouth promptly falls open.

The room that the doors open to is enormous, like a garage, or a warehouse, with dark walls and a tall ceiling. There are glass dividers, metal tables, pieces of machinery Clint has never seen before, and the holographic screens S.H.I.E.L.D had borrowed Tony Stark to create. The screens in this room appear to be miles better, and Clint can only surmise by the surroundings that this is Tony Stark’s personal lab. The place where the new Iron Man suits are made. As much as Clint knows he’s well out of his element in such a place, he can’t help the little thrill of excitement at being there all the same. He doesn't outwardly show how impressed he is, but it’s there under the surface. It’s like stepping into a whole other world.

Tony is standing in the middle of the enormous room, scrolling through a holographic screen with one hand, talking loudly over the sound of ACDC and holding a glass of something caramel coloured with the other hand. He seems not to notice them which Clint thinks must be an act because they weren't exactly being quiet and the elevator  _ dinged _ . Clint is proven right when Tony suddenly spins around and tilts his head.

“You’re taller than I thought” Tony tells him, eyes lit up curiously. “Also why’re you wet?”

Clint snickers and can’t help the “wouldn’t you like to know” that slips out. 

Tony splutters a laugh. “Touché. Happy, get him some stuff from the gift shop, well do the scan in the meantime.”

Clint blinks. He hadn’t noticed a gift shop on his way in although it probably makes sense. Tourists probably visit Stark tower regularly, get souvenirs of Iron Man. It’s a smart marketing idea to procure more money for Stark Industries. Clint is half expecting Happy to come back with clothes in various shades of red and gold and shudders. He’s colourful enough already from various bruises. 

Clint walks further into the room to look around more thoroughly and Tony watches him with keen eyes, almost as if waiting for Clint’s reaction. Clint very determinedly does not give him one. 

Tony shrugs at the neutral way Clint looks around and continues on with the conversation he’d been having with the ceiling. 

It’s like he’s talking to a person rather than a program and it should be weird but it isn’t. The back and forth is quick, obviously it’s a program Tony created, catered towards his needs and way of thinking, to make his work easier. Clint again finds himself impressed. Natasha hasn’t been quiet about her lack of fondness for Tony Stark but Clint has already changed his mind after seeing him in his element in the lab. He’s talking quickly, brain processing impossibly fast, hands flicking in all directions on the hollo-screens, but there is a calmness under the chaos. Tony is so clearly a powerhouse with technology. Clint can appreciate the way he works with tech at such a uniquely high level, and there is something that resonates with Clint even if they don’t know each other very well. It reminds him how Clint feels with his bow, strong, calm, standing on the edge of firing. Standing in Tony’s space, Clint feels a weird kinship he hadn’t anticipated.

Tony’s shoulders are loose and he has an easy smile on his face, and coupled with Clint’s rapidly changing view on Tony it encourages Clint to uncurl his fists and stop standing so stiff. Clint can feel himself dropping his guard down. Tony makes more  _ sense _ in this environment, in all his chaotic info dumping, analysing, problem solving glory than he does in the monochromatic hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D, and certainly more than the meeting room they’d met in.

Tony bites his lip and then says to Clint “Alright, lets get you out of those clothes. Jarvis is going to do a scan. If you step up onto that circle over there-yeah thanks."

Clint hadn’t imagined getting  _ almost  _ naked for Tony Stark when he arrived back in New York that morning but nevertheless, he undresses until he’s standing in cold wet boxer briefs and follows Tony’s direction. He is freezing cold, shivering despite being inside and maybe it should be awkward being so vulnerable but Clint’s been unconcerned about his body his whole life. He had bigger concerns than his abs or his biceps -they were well-defined regardless- like his hearing or lack of, and keeping himself fed and safe.

He doesn't flinch when a bunch of blue lines scan up and across his body in measured grids -which Clint assumes is his measurements being taken- but it’s a near thing. The computer program that Tony has been speaking to works silently, and even when he looks around he can't figure out where the lines have come from. It’s some next level shit.

“I can see why you like archery. Most people would kill for those arms” Tony notes offhandedly.

Clint grins. Flirting is a language he is fluent in.

When Happy returns with a matching light grey set of sweats with  _ Stark  _ written along one pant leg and the back of the top Clint follows his instructions to a nearby bathroom and puts the clothes on immediately, thankful they are grey of all colours. He has to throw away his wet boxers but it doesn't feel so weird because the new clothes are soft and he instantly feels warmer. 

When he walks back to the lab he sees that Happy is gone again and Tony is focused on a monitor set up nearby. Before Clint can stand there for too long Tony spins around. His eyes rove over Clint, taking in his brand on Clint’s body and grins when his eyes return to Clint’s.

“You’ve never looked better. I was about to head out for a boozy breakfast, but what do you say to a drink here?” Tony asks, brash as anything. 

It faintly rings around in Clint’s head that it isn’t even 9am but he’s had a terrible day, and he doesn't want to talk to Natasha about it so he nods, any excuse is still an excuse. 

“Sure Tony,” Clint says, looking at him the way he usually looks at pretty people at the bar and leaning forwards onto the bench separating them. Tony’s eyes dip to look at the way Clint is presenting himself and licks his lips. 

Clint gets a thrill from it, knowing that Tony at least finds Clint attractive, and now Clint’s single. 

“Huh. That's new. Normally I'm the incorrigible flirt” Tony says mildly as he turns around to go for the bar tucked into the back of the lab.

Clint doesn’t reply, just lifts himself up onto a nearby bench with less crap all over it, holding himself up on tired arms until Tony turns back around and can see the way his arms flex as he lowers himself onto the table. 

“Sure, make yourself comfy.”

Clint grins. “Like Captain America?” he asks, accepting the drink from Tony's hand, brushing their fingers briefly. 

Tony raises an eyebrow. “Jealous you aren’t in our secret clubhouse Barton?”

Clint downs half his drink and ignores the burn of the strong whisky. “Depends on what I’m missing out on” he says, eyes dropping down from Tony’s eyes to drag down his body. 

Tony slouches back against the nearest bench. He downs his drink in one go. “You sure are something Barton.”

Clint likes the way Tony sounds mildly flustered. 

  
  
  
  


Clint wobbles in his apartment door, falling against the door frame and holding onto it for support in taking off his shoes. He trips and lands face first on the hardwood. Blood starts to drip from his already injured nose. 

“Clint” Natasha’s voice comes from close by, and Clint’s head jerks up to spot her.

She walks over with a wet flannel and presses it  _ hard  _ to his nose.

The renewed pain sobers him up a little but it makes his eyes water all the same.

“Why're you here?” His voice is muffled by the flannel pressed to his face but he can see how she purses her lips, and how rigid her shoulders are that something isn't right. 

Natasha ignores his question and hauls him up off the floor, closing the front door with her foot. She makes him sit on the couch and hold his nose while she stands in front of him. He feels small under her gaze, and he doesn't even know why. She’s obviously angry with him for being drunk and letting his guard down enough that he didn’t notice her waiting in his apartment until it was too late. In Clint’s defense, today has been  _ the worst _ .

“You disappeared from the lockers at S.H.I.E.L.D rather quickly” Natasha tells him and her voice is smooth but her eyes are hard.

Clint thinks his nose has stopped bleeding so he lowers the flannel and stares up at her. He does not want to talk about where he went immediately after so he goes with a half truth. “I was at Stark Tower."

“Why?” Her gaze is angry now, Clint can picture steam coming out of her ears and remembers her dislike of Tony. Shit. 

Clint looks away. The whole reason he’d gone there and let Tony convince him to drink too much was to take his mind off things and Natasha is one of two people who can read his expression well enough to guess what happened. He really doesn’t want to let her in, let his guard down and reveal the one thing about him he’s never told her. 

“‘M not gonna talk ‘bout it'' he mumbles even though he knows he’s giving away too much. If she trusts him to know what's best for himself she will let it go.

Natasha sighs, a heavy huff from her petite body that seems -oddly- fit for somebody much older than her. A long suffering thing that reminds him of his mother. “Coulson?” She eventually asks, eyes not leaving his face.

Clint groans, angry, irritated. She shouldn't know anything about his relationship with Coulson. Clint shouldn’t be surprised that she does, she is a walking encyclopedia of Clint Barton knowledge, but it's such a breach of privacy that Clint wants it as an excuse to be mad at her. “How do you know?” 

She stares at him, impossibly understanding, reading his body language, his hard expression. He’s protecting himself and they both know it. Clint is very good at keeping his hurt close. Natasha is better at reading through it, but only just.

“You are always more exhausted after a verbal fight than a physical one and he looks unhappy” She murmurs, walking over to take the seat next to him on the beat up couch.

Clint doesn't say anything, picking at a loose strand on the couch cushion. He just lets her sit there with him with a hand around his bicep, a steady presence next to him as the sky grows dark and Clint feels his eyes droop. 

“Go home Nat, i’ll live.”

She pinches his shoulder which forces him to let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal, and her laugh chimes through the apartment as she leaves. He sighs and falls face first onto the couch to crash and leave this awful day behind him.

  
  


Clint tries not to think about Coulson over the next few days, focusing on cleaning his apartment from top to bottom, throwing out old clothes, broken arrows, food, anything that he doesn’t like, that reminds him of Coulson. He pauses at his dart board, a gift from Coulson that has a dart stuck dead centre from a couple months ago when things were still fine between them. It hurts to think how much has changed between them since then and the pain is so raw that Clint stalks over and rips the board off the wall, pulling paint off with it and letting it crash to the floor. He stares at the blotchy paint for a minute before turning on his heel and heading for the bedroom. He quickly pulls his quiver and bow from under the bed and goes back out to the living room, nocking an arrow as he walks. He shoots it directly at the wall and watches with satisfaction as it sinks in, further than the dart board by about three inches and into the drywall. The arrow will be a bitch to get out but it doesn’t stop him from firing three more in quick succession. 

Clint spins around and lets an arrow fly when the sound of his front door opens and the lock pings off into the apartment. It bounces off bright red and gold armour. Iron Man is standing impassively in his doorway.

“Shit Barton, what if i wasn’t wearing the suit?” Tony’s voice comes half joking, faceplate moving up even as he speaks. 

“Normally people knock on the door instead of breaking it open” Clint growls, irrationally more angry than he needs to be. It flairs hot and twisting in his stomach and his fingers itch for another arrow. 

Tony doesn’t seem to notice the tight line of Clint’s shoulders, just shrugs and then the armour opens up, the shorter man stepping out into the dingey lighting of Clint’s run-down living room. Tony glances around and then begins to do what Clint can only describe as  _ surveying  _ his apartment. 

“You get this couch out of a rubbish pile? Oh god, a lava lamp, what are we Barton, in the 70’s? Please tell me you have posters of naked ladies on your bedroom wall, that seems like something you’d do” Tony’s voice trails off excitedly as he walks into Clint’s bedroom. Clint doesn't. But he decides not to mention his office wall. 

Clint sighs and makes his way to the kitchen. He jumps up so he can sit on his kitchen counter and waits for Tony to finish whatever the fuck he’s currently doing. Clint can see the entrance of the building across the road from his perch on the counter, but also the tops of every nearby building, it’s a great vantage point, it calms his emotions. He can sit and watch without having to do anything else, almost like meditation although he’d never call it that. 

“No. This is just atrocious. How long have you lived like this?” Tony questions seriously, big brown eyes intense and his face in a frown. 

“Huh?” Clint says unintelligently because surely there was some cue he’d missed from Tony’s indignance. Lived like what? A normal bachelor in New York? News flash, he wasn’t one of those. Clint barely knew how to live in a trailer, nevermind a proper  _ building _ .

Tony rolls his eyes overdramatically. “This horrible apartment. You have arrows sticking out of your living room wall, your bed looks like a Snorlax has donated it to you and everything is various shades of purple, even your toilet!”

“Hey that purple toilet is a beauty” Clint laughs, despite himself. “Also those arrows have been there for approximately 5 minutes,” Clint tacks on in the hopes that Tony will find this fact alarming. Maybe Clint can scare him off. Tony and his ugly suit.

Tony sighs, exasperated. “No. God Barton, get a fashion sense. Anyway, i was thinking about our talk the other night-”

“I'm fairly certain it was mid-morning” Clint butts in but Tony steamrolls on.

“-about how you were missing out on the super secret clubhouse and i had a spare floor so i got Pepper to get some guys to spruce it up and make it habitable. Now you can join.”

Clint vaguely recalls something like that mentioned but then Tony’s meaning catches up with him. “You want me to move in?”

Tony rolls his eyes and gestures around. “Would it really be a hardship?”

Compared to Clint’s apartment, no, it wouldn’t. 

“Your terrible redhead can even have her own suite-”

Clint cuts Tony off, “You’ll let Natasha stay?”

Tony’s eyes glint, like he knows he’s just won Clint over. Clint hates that he’s so clearly got his attention with that last part. Like Tony knows Natasha is what will clinch the deal for him after having known him in no time at all. 

“Let me get back to you” Clint decides after a minute.

Tony nods and the faceplate of the armor closes. “Just give me a call,” he tells Clint, and then he’s clanking out the way he came.

Clint waits a couple more days to ask Natasha. He has the sneaking suspicion that if he decided he’d move she would call it rash, try and connect his actions to his emotions, tie everything back to his breakup with Phil. It wasn’t even about that but she wouldn’t see it that way. He just wanted to not think about it. 

It comes as a shock when she nods and says “sure,” as if moving into Stark tower  _ with _ Tony Stark is a perfectly reasonable idea. 

“I’m sorry what?” Clint questions, knowing he’s got a look of stupid surprise on his face.

Natasha is quick to back up her easy acceptance of moving, “when i worked for him i got used to the commodities, the sauna did wonders for my skin.”

And really, Clint shouldn’t be surprised. Natasha takes what she can get, no questions asked. She isn’t especially materialistic or vain, but there are perfectly good rooms for them to stay in, more facilities to use than can be used at any given time and the protection of such an important building. 

Clint has to admit, Natasha has a point. 

“I’ll pack my things. Pick you up in an hour” she tells him, her sharp little grin tipping the corners of her mouth up.

Clint sighs as he tries not to think about how terrible he feels that Natasha can pack her things in less than an hour. He tries extra hard not to think about how he probably can too now, after the purge of all his Phil-related objects. 

Natasha shows up to his building, where Clint is already waiting, leaning on the stoop outside with his bags at his feet. Her deep red hair is in a smooth sleek bob, and she has dark sunglasses on. Clint dumps his bags in the back seat of her Porsche and gets in the passenger side. 

“Ready for the life of luxury?” She muses, surprisingly in a good mood. 

Clint shrugs noncommittally. He isn’t sure what they're getting themselves into. Knowing Tony Stark, it could be anything. 

Natasha drives to the underground parking garage where the employees on the lower floors park, and leads Clint to an elevator. Natasha’s shoulders are relaxed, her arms easily carrying the weight of her bags and she presses the button on the elevator to the 90th floor.

It doesn't seem to take as long as it should for the elevator to get up so high, but it opens up to a large open plan living space. There are light features, floor to ceiling windows, concrete mixed with wood and tile, a sunken living room with couches that look more expensive than Clint’s whole apartment, glass tables, a bar, Clint doesn’t know where to look first. He certainly hadn’t seen this space on his prior visit. Everything is artfully crafted architectural lines, lowered areas to separate different spaces, a landing here, a sitting area there. It all  _ screams  _ Tony Stark. Surprisingly enough, Clint feels like Tony has had a hand in every part of this space, hasn't paid anybody to design it. It’s strangely beautiful but Clint will never say that out loud. Not to Tony at least. 

Tony wanders out from the hallway leading off from the sleek dark coloured kitchen. 

“I was wondering if you’d ever show up. And you! You're lucky I told JARVIS to even let you in. Liar liar pants on fire.”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “What floor am i?” She questions, utterly unperturbed by Tony’s indignance. Clint has to fight a smile. It seems that Natasha has Tony’s number already. She can read him like a book and she isn’t afraid of him. 

Tony pretends to think on it, tapping his chin theatrically. “78. I put Clint next to you so technically it's both your floor.”

Clint stares at Tony, trying to figure out his meaning? Did he mean that Clint and Natasha were going to live in spaces the width of half a building, half a skyscraper. The penthouse is giant, half of it is sure to feel massive. Clint doesn't believe it.

Natasha picks her bags up and walks back to the elevator without question. 

Clint doesn't have the heart to leave just yet unsure of what he might find. He leaves his bags to the side and wanders over to the far wall made of windows and looks at the city. There are other high-rise buildings nearby and lots of grey, but the streets and lights meld together into a stunning view. Clint feels Tony’s eyes on his back and turns towards him. 

Tony’s leaning against the bar with a glass in his hand, a golden liquor inside. He’s waiting for Clint to say something but Clint finds he doesn't have the words. It’s all a visual overload. So much to look at, process, and get used to. 

“Lab is upstairs, there is a button that’ll take you to the roof but it's pretty windy, floors 80-90 are research floors, you can mingle on the 80th floor, that's where most of my staff take their breaks. Ask JARVIS if you need anything, he’s programmed in 20 different pizza places that i think you’d like. Beer is in this fridge, your fridge, the fridge in my lab. Mi casa es su casa. Now. There is a very lovely, very  _ naked _ woman waiting in my bed, if you'll excuse me” Tony tells him. 

Just like that Clint is alone in his new home. 

Clint and Natasha’s suites in Stark tower are split by a narrow foyer and are identifiable only by the small symbols in the middle of the door. A little purple arrow on one and a black spider on the other. Clint smiles to himself where nobody can see him and pushes open the door. The apartment is expansive, - just as he'd suspected- light and open with floor to ceiling windows, neutral furnishings and simple furniture. He pokes around looking for any bugs, and coming up pleased when the result is none.

He dumps his things away and then stands in the middle of the lounge room wondering what to do. He can't hope to fill the space, even with his bows unfolded but he puts away what he can and hopes he remembers where he's put things. 

He could go bother Natasha but feels it’s a bit too early to be doing so and if Tony is still  _ busy  _ he would like to avoid that situation entirely.

Clint potters around the apartment listening to the tv and cleaning his knives, restringing his bows and checking the chambers in his guns. It's not until he looks up out the window and sees the shining orange and yellow lights of New York that he realises the sun has gone down and he has wasted the better part of the day. 

He stretches and goes into the kitchen in search of food. When he opens the fridge he realises Tony hadn’t been lying when he said there was beer. The fridge is packed with almost nothing but Clint’s favourite beer. There's milk, cheese and a casserole dish with glad wrap over the top and a note stuck to it. He pulls it out.

_ Clint, _

_ Welcome to the tower, _

_ Pepper Potts x _

Clint grins and plates up some of the casserole to put in the microwave, promising himself to ask Tony who Pepper Potts is tomorrow. 


End file.
